My cross-eyed lover

Sara did not want to fall in love. Not with a large squint spilling from his eyes and climbing out like ants unto his face. When he looked at her, she wasn’t sure where he looked and it was a blob of pure insult thrown at her. He talked wonderfully and loved wonderfully, but Sara wanted to know his thoughts. His eyes, like two strangers at war sat with their backs on each other sat on a huge wall. Sara looked closely, magically deleting her orgasm, in a humid ghetto somewhere, against the heat of a bare bulb. She peered into the strangers and told herself over and over that she could not see love. What she could pretend to see was a mist rising between the two eyes, pushing them apart, his smile and his twitching mouth like cavalry on the war of the eyes.